Sand and Stage Mist
by Keravin
Summary: Mandrake the Magician and the Golden Age Sandman vs Fu Manchu
1. Default Chapter Title

The YesterYear Fan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. 

The moonlight glinted off the harbour waters. It hung ominously over the New York skyline as figures moved along Dock Eleven's walkways. These weren't the normal smugglers breaking the prohibition. They had a different purpose. Their master had sent them -- his name was Fu Manchu..... 

SAND AND STAGE MIST ISSUE 1 'PERFORMANCE' 

Written by Mark Peyton Edited by Jericho Vilar 

1938 NEW YORK 

Edward Hancock adjusted his bowtie as he stepped from the cab. He held out his hand helping his lady companion from the vehicle. He smiled at her, closing the cab door, and paid the cabbie his fare. This was a highly exclusive shindig tonight. Invitation only. What should have been just a minor event had by that one move been turned into a highly important place to show off prosperity. And all for a carnival magician. He looked over the poster proclaiming MANDRAKE THE MAGICIAN. He hoped the refreshments were good enough to warrant his time as he had little time for 

parlour tricks. 

* * * * * * * * * 

Wesley looked at his watch "Dian, if we don't hurry, we might be late." Dian finished putting on her earrings. "Don't fret, Mr. Dodds; if we miss anything, it will only be the speech on behalf of the museum. You're quite looking forward to this?" "More out of curiosity than anything. I always harboured a little fascination with how the trick was done. And I've heard comparison between him and Zatara." "Is his magic supposedly real?" "Mandrake won't say; that's why I'm curious. If we are quite ready, Miss Belmont, shall we go join New York's Hoi Palloi?" Dian looped her arm in his and smiled. "Lead on, Mr. Dodds. Anything for a good mystery." 

* * * * * * * * * 

Mandrake smoothed his moustache and considered himself in the mirror. 'Not too shabby, if he said so himself.' He pulled on his tux jacket and brushed it down, sitting back down on the chair. Without glancing back, he said, "Lothar, come in. You are blocking the doorway." Lothar chuckled and moved into the room. He looked at the chair to the side and decided to remain standing. Mandrake smiled. "I'm sure it would stand up to you sitting on it." Lothar replied in his deep voice, "It might, boss, but I don't want it docked from my wages if it doesn't." "I could make it so it held you." "Don't waste your magic on this. I don't think you should be even performing tonight. You're not well." "You sound like an old mother, Lothar, not like a hardened fighter. My health and my ability to use magic are not an issue." "Only because you stop it from becoming one. Every time this gets brought up, you either put a stop to the conversation or you change the subject. I don't know why you employ a doctor if you're going to ignore him." "Lothar, my old friend, I will be fine. I appreciate your concern, but you shouldn't fret so. The performance will go off without a hitch, and then I may take some time off." "Mandrake, I know what time off entails for you. Generally some mad adventure." "Very relaxing. I assure you." "Not for my nerves, it isn't." Mandrake laughed heartily. "Get yourself a drink, and me one while you're at it." 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Humphries opened the car door and Wesley stepped out, smiling at him. He offered his hand to Dian, who took it, and gracefully stepped from the car. "Miss Belmont, may I say how lovely you look tonight." "Mr. Dodds, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were flattering me." "Surely not, Miss Belmont. Shall we go inside?" "Yes. I'm surprised you didn't check with Humphries about your other 'suit' in case of any accidents." Wesley smiled. "Who says we haven't already sorted that out. Shall we?" The two walked up the steps slowly, Dian's arm wrapped around his. They chatted, both perfectly at ease with each other. There was a trust between them. Each knew the other's secrets and each had found a missing part of themselves in the other's heart. They moved through the masses slowly and started to mingle. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

His birth name was Kyle. He'd not been called that for a long time. These days he generally went under assumed names or his alias. He knew the name fit him well nowadays, but he felt he lost something when he assumed it. He hadn't gotten much pride from it, but he was sure it would come soon. Around him the black garbed figures waited. Their master had given instructions that the robbery should be taken with speed, but also secrecy. Any overt action might alert the competitors for the item, and that would displease the master. Kyle had no desire to displease his master. For all his ability, he didn't fancy getting on the wrong side of Fu Manchu. He'd heard horror tales of those who had crossed him. Kyle wasn't stupid. He'd get the job done and maybe get some respect for his new name. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Monty Goodwin stood in the corner regaling would-be starlets with tales. They stood transfixed as he told them of drinking binges with this person and that person. The girls nodded their heads like yapping dogs, taking in his bluster. Wesley and Dian walked past; Wesley nodded to him slightly. He knew that behind the facade lurked a mind of some excellence. Monty was a problem solver. A detective if he put his mind to it, but he did let his predilection with the ladies turn his eye far too often. Wesley smiled, and Dian nudged him playfully. They made their way to the bar. Sipping their newly acquired drinks they chatted, oblivious to most of the insipid social climbers around them, as the gong sounded, signaling the start of the performance. The crowd bustled into the theatre, gently murmuring. The room started to settle. The curtain rustled slightly, and those who stood in the aisles made their way to seats. The dilletantes sat 

and waited. Again the curtain rustled and then slowly started to rise. The crowd looked on into blackness. Someone to the back muttered something to his companion. From around him, a flurry of hushes were fired at him. A spotlight shone onto the stage. Some of the audience peered back to see where the light was coming from. A face appeared within the light. It sported a brilliant black top hat and turned into the light to show his features. He smiled, his moustache well slicked as the rest of his body seemed hidden from view. "Greetings," he said, his punctuation impeccable. "I am Mandrake. Some call me the Magician. It is not a title I take. What you will see before you tonight is a show. It may be fact. It may be magic. It is up to you to decide." From the edge of the stage a headless body in a smart tuxedo walked on, and over to the head. The two connected, and Mandrake bowed as the applause started. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Outside the museum one of the men signaled to Kyle. The performance must have started. Time to move into position. He opened the van door and stepped out. The wind blew against his face as he started to change. His legs slowly disappeared as his body was enshrouded in Mist. The mist swam up his body as his physical form dissipated, leaving only his head and arms. Around him the tongs moved towards the walls, some climbing, others checking the doors. Kyle watched quietly and then started to ascend, the wind blowing him upwards. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Mandrake stepped over to a box. The box was gloriously decorated, but otherwise simply rather tall. He indicated it. "This is a traveling box. It has been many places with me, and some of those places have rubbed off on it. I would like one volunteer from the audience." Leaving the box top slightly open, he stepped down off the stage toward the front row. The audience murmured slightly as Mandrake picked a young lady from the audience. She was a smallish blonde woman dressed in a simple green velvet dress. Mandrake took her hand and led her to the stage. She giggled slightly, a little giddy from all the attention. Mandrake moved her to the centre of the stage and smiled. "Please, a big hand for my lovely volunteer." As they applauded, he walked to the box and opened it up. He took the girl's hand and led her into the centre, kneeling and attaching cuffs around her ankles. The girl looked a little perturbed, and Mandrake whispered, "Don't worry, it'll be fine." He stood up and smiled to the audience. "I have secured the lovely lady within the box so she will not injure herself as she travels. You see, she's going on a journey." Mandrake knelt down and drew the box close, smiling at the girl. The top of the box was still open, and her head looked out. Mandrake stood back and waved his hand towards the box. It started to rise off the stage floor, drifting diagonally into the air. The crowd ooed as it started to arch in the air. The girl giggled nervously inside. Mandrake waved his arm this way and that, and the box followed. Beneath, the audience applauded. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Wesley chuckled and clapped along with the rest. He looked up, trying to spy any sort of wires. The movement of the box was supposed to show that it couldn't be done using wires. Mandrake stood supremely confident upon the stage, smiling. The applause died down. Wesley looked around as the box and girl returned to the stage. Though the applause had started up again, he heard something another noise just on the edge of his senses. The sound of glass breaking. Wesley tapped Dian on the arm, nodded to her, and stood up. He excused himself as he made his way to the aisle. Dian smiled to herself and continued to watch Mandrake's performance. Wesley made his way outside to his car. Humphries stood waiting for him. "Your other suit is laid out in the back, sir." Wesley smiled and climbed inside. The Sandman stepped out from the other side. His gasmask hid the face of the sleeper beneath. The longcoat hung off his shoulders comfortably. The armour plates on his back no longer felt uncomfortable as they had at the start. The Sandman nodded to Humphries and walked toward the museum, his gasgun at the ready. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

The tongs made their way across the floor. Only one obstacle had so far hindered them, and the guard lay dead at the door. Kyle looked around at the hardened killers around him. Their facemasks hid any emotion. He was trying to keep his cool. He'd seen death before. It just made him wonder. They moved across the museum as pepperings of applause filtered in from the other rooms. "Excuse me!" A deep voice spoke up. Kyle and the tongs whirled around. To the side stood Lothar, his arms folded. "I'll assume you guys ain't the cleaners." Kyle waved his left arm and the tongs to his left ran forward. Lothar flexed his muscles and smiled. The first struck at him with a sword, which Lothar dodged, moving back and landed a punch directly to the face. The second moved to the side, as the first fell to the ground. Lothar danced back, striking out again. Again his hit connected, and the other man fell. Kyle looked at the dancing, laughing Lothar and moved towards him. Lothar smiled, "You guys must be from a pajama party." He laughed again as Kyle slowly floated toward him. His first hit struck Lothar squarely. Lothar tried to dodge as Kyle's next attack struck. Lothar looked a little dazed as Kyle's mist form swarmed around him, especially when Lothar's own hits passed harmlessly through Kyle's body. Kyle's own hits struck Lothar hard, sending him stepping back as he felt his strength move from him. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

The Sandman knelt over the guard and closed his dead eyes, after checking for his now non-existent pulse. There was some commotion from the next chamber. Raising his gun, he rose and stepped towards the door. A black-clothed, hooded man stood inside the door. Further into the room, a coloured, heavily-built man was being struck by what appeared to be some form of will-o-wisp in the shape of a man. The Sandman aimed his gasgun at the closest man. Green gas spewed from the gun, engulfing the tong. The tong turned, coughing as he was surrounded and overcome by the gas. As he fell, the Sandman moved further into the room. Lothar fell back against the wall. He couldn't stop the blows from hitting him. The Mist in front of him was untouchable. It had a grim determination on its face as it battered at him. He just wished that Mandrake wouldn't see him like this. His thoughts were of his friend as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

The Sandman moved across. He heard footsteps from behind, which he turned to face. The sleeper within recognised the figure who moved to stand beside him. Mandrake tapped his cane on the ground. "Leave my friend alone. I think my gasmasked companion and I would like to discuss your interruption of the performance." The Sandman raised his gasgun and faced the Mist. About them, tongs moved as the two suited adventurers became surrounded. 

TO BE CONTINUED 

Welcome to the reissue of the first issue of Sand and Stage Mist. Sand and Stage Mist is an ongoing series. It might be a little irregular as I keep my ongoing series for MFS and other sites running regularly, but I've got a great world-spanning adventure lined up for you, and I hope you stick around to enjoy it. The email addy for this title is keravin44@hotmail.com Those of you familiar with my old Starman:DCF will know that's a different address to my normal one, but I can only get so much mail at a single addy. This title will probably have short episodes. That's on purpose stylistically as I try and emulate the old Saturday adventure serials. When the story warrants it then it will be longer. Also by being short it means I can keep the pace going as the action has to be kept to the forefront. I'll try for cliffhangers as much as possible and twists along the way. My reading suggestions this month are Jac Milnestein's Noir, especially as the Sandman got mentioned, and Avengers America by Jericho Vilar over at MFS. Next issue the adventure continues as our two heroes meet for the first time. 


	2. Default Chapter Title

TheYesterYearFan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. 

The Tong advanced slowly towards the two men. Lothar lay slumped to one side as the grey suited Sandman stood side by side with the Tuxedo clad Mandrake. Mandrake tapped his foot as he said, "Leave." The Tong's response was to draw blades. 

SAND AND STAGE MIST ISSUE 2 

Written by Mark Peyton Edited by Jericho Vilar 

Kyle stood back. The Tong swirled swords, chains and clubs towards the two. The Sandman stood, his gasgun raising slowly as he said, "The Sandman seeks rest. You cannot escape my dark dream." He fired the gasgun at the closest group of Tong. A number stepped back, coughing as the green gas surrounded them. Mandrake smiled as he split into four separate beings. The four Mandrakes danced around the room, all smiling as the Tong spread out to deal with them. This wasn't going well, Kyle had decided. He looked as the Tong clashed with the two adventurers. They could keep them occupied while he carried out the Master's will. His vaporous form drifted towards the next room as the sound of blade clashing with gun rang out. Mandrake had foxed one of the Tong, a bulkier man than the others and had gotten in a lucky punch, while one of his other 'forms' dodged in front of the man. The Tong slumped to the floor and Mandrake retrieved his sword. The Sandman fought with two bringing his gun up into one's face. The Tong fell back, clutching his nose as the Sandman fired his green gas at the man. The second assailant brought his blade down on the Sandman's shoulders. Mandrake flinched, but the Sandman simply turned and fired his gun again. Kyle heard the commotion in the next room, but blanked it out. In front of him rested a manuscript. Its text was in Hebrew, or that was what the plaque said. He brought down his hand, smashing the glass case. An alarm rang out, but that hardly mattered as they had been discovered. The damage was already done. He lifted the parchment out slowly and placed it into a special container which the Master had given him. He held it for a second, then took a whistle from his pocket and placed it to his lips. The whistle let out a sharp blast. That would alert any still standing and tell them to flee. Their escape was not his concern. The safe delivery of this package was. The Sandman looked at Mandrake as he knelt by Lothar. The Tong were dealt with and the sirens of the Police closing. The sleeper was ready to rise. The Sandman advanced and tapped Mandrake on the shoulder. "We should meet later." Mandrake nodded and said, "Central Park by the Chess House at One." The Sandman nodded and walked out of the room as security guards ran in the other door. Mandrake smiled at Lothar as he looked over his friend's wounds. "It looks like it will be you resting my friend." Lothar coughed wearily. "And you're off on some adventure." "I'll try not to have too much excitement." Lothar closed his eyes. "You better tell me all about it when you get back." 

"I promise." 

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Wesley walked back to Dian's side as she watched the Police wheel the injured and incapacitated. "So how was the rest of the show, Miss Belmont?" She took his arm in hers. "Not bad. I think you may have gotten a private performance, Mr Dodds." "I'll tell you about it later. If you like you can come to a meeting with me." She smiled and kissed him. "oh fun. Lets go say hello to Lieutenant Burke, before we go get ready." She winked and Wesley smiled. * * * * * * * * * * * 

Mandrake rode the ambulance with Lothar. His friend was asleep. The Police had agreed to take his statement at the hospital. He just had to make certain he kept his appointment. He shut his eyes and laid his head back. The magic was starting to hurt. 

* * * * * * * * * * * The moon hung in the sky, softly illuminating the Park. Wesley stood a little way away from the Chess House watching. He'd made a decision after the Sandman had encountered the Tong and he needed help. That meant he would have to trust another person with the secret of the Sandman. Dian stood by him and slipped her hand into his. He hadn't told her yet what he planned to do or what was up. It felt strange to keep things from her now. Across the way, a figure walked up to the Chess House and looked about. Wesley pulled Dian and the two made their way across to the figure. Mandrake stood there, his long black coat fastened, and watched as a bespectacled man and a striking woman walked towards him. He considered them carefully. They moved together well, their hands holding one another. The man was about 5' 8 and a little overweight. He wore small round glasses which gave him an owlish appearance, consolidated by his piercing gaze. There was a quiet sincerity to the man, as Mandrake looked at him. This seemed to be a man at ease. Beside him the woman was tall, powerful, most fetching by 1930s standards. She wore a deep fur coat and smiled. This was no shrinking violet. Wesley stopped and let his hand slip from Dian's. He raised it to Mandrake. "Pleased to meet you. Wesley Dodds." "Mandrake." "This is my companion, Miss Dian Belmont." Mandrake tipped his hat to her. "I take it you are the Sandman Mr Dodds." Wesley considered his answer briefly. "In a way. He is me as much as I am him." Dian smiled. "It gets a tad confusing. The Sandman and Wesley are the same person, but some in ways they are not." Mandrake nodded, a little perplexed. "I won't attempt to understand then. I am generally as I choose to appear." Wesley smiled. "Should we stand here all night or retire somewhere? I think we have a fair amount to discuss." "Certainly. Does Miss Belmont know of tonight's events?" Wesley took Dian's arm as he said, "Some, though not all. I don't think you know everything either." * * * * * * * * * * * 

The three made their way out of the Park unaccosted and took Wesley's waiting car to his townhouse. Humphries opened the door and ushered them in, taking their coats from them. Wesley led them into his study, and walked over to his cabinet. "Would you care for a drink?" "A little brandy please," Mandrake said, "I need to warm up." Wesley nodded, pouring three drinks and handed one to Dian and then to Mandrake. He sipped his drink, standing, and then turned to face Mandrake. "Do you know who you faced tonight?" Mandrake considered his answer. "Some orientals, I know that. Some sort of Tong." Wesley nodded. "But no more than that?" You don't know who their Master was?" "I presume not the Mist fellow. No, I have no idea." Dian sat listening as Wesley said, "Have you ever encountered the name Fu Manchu?" Mandrake shook his head. "Should I have?" "Not if you haven't mixed in the wrong circles. It was a name I first encountered while in the East. It is a name at most whispered, but everyone knows it. It is a name to fear." "So is it some sort of legend?" "That's what I first thought. The truth is more fantastic. Fu Manchu is a criminal god. All the crime in certain parts of the East stems from him. There are those who believe the Yakuza are simply a front with which he confuses. After my time in the East I have harboured a secret fascination with tales of Fu Manchu. The Sandman recognised a symbol on the arm of one of the Tong tonight. A small black Lotus. It is one of his symbols. That is who our adversary is." Mandrake sipped his brandy. "So we've stepped on some fairly large toes." Wesley nodded. "Indeed. The question is are you with me in stopping this man from whatever he is up to?" "These men hurt my friend. Foiling whatever they are up to seems only fair. What do you think it is?" "I honestly have no idea, but Dian thinks she might have found their next target." Mandrake turned to face Dian, who sat up. She said, "The parchment is not a solitary item. It along with a ceremonial dagger came out of Abyssinia. Their exact nature, as far as I can tell, never been discerned. They should not have been there. Nevertheless they are a pair." "And Miss Belmont, where is the dagger now?", Mandrake asked. Dian smiled. "It is in Opal City." Wesley walked around and said, "I've contacted an associate of mine there and asked him to be ready to meet us when we arrive there tommorrow." Mandrake looked at him. "So you thought I'd agree to this." "I've read a little of your exploits. This seems more up your line than the Sandman's. The three of us need to rest before we catch our flight tommorrow." "The three of us?", Mandrake said. Dian piped up. "Yes I'm coming along. I found the lead and Wesley and I are a team. I'll do the work, while you two play hero." Mandrake laughed out loud. "Well, if Mr Dodds has no worries about you being involved, who am I to stop you from cracking the case, whatever it is." Dian stood up and moved to Wesley's side. Mandrake rose and lifted his glass. "To good hunting," he said. Wesley and Dian clinked their glasses to his and both said, "Good hunting." 

NEXT ISSUE Our heroes wind their way to Opal City and we meet Wesley's very familiar friend. Join us for a trip into Opal's underworld. 

One letter this time from Mr Rob Sutton, whose help on this series has been invaluable. Fu is set up nicely. As an opening it far outstrips Starman simply because you have so much more leeway there to play with and your style is a LOT more fluent. I'm a Fu Fan (not a Fu Fighter) so you can expect feedback from me on this one. If you get a chance to watch the films, do. They're excellent adaptations of the Fu Theme. 

THANKS ROB. THE SERIES SHOULD PROGRESS NICELY. IT DOESN'T TAKE LONG TO WRITE AND I'M TRYING TO DO IT AS AN ADVENTURE SERIAL. AS AN OPENING IT DOES SEEM A LITTLE FREE-ER THAN STARMAN BUT THAT IN PART IS BECAUSE IT HASN'T STARTED WITH ON A LIMITED RUN IMPOSED ON IT. I MIGHT HAVE STARTED STARMAN DIFFERENTLY IF I KNEW THAT IT WOULD BECOME ONGOING SO QUICKLY. I DO EXPECT FEEDBACK MR SUTTON ESPECIALLY AFTER I'VE TAKEN SOME OF YOUR SUGGESTIONS ONLINE ALREADY 

We have no lettercolumn title so suggestions please. And while you are at it see if you can think of a name for this issue. This series is going to be a little irregular, but I hope it will keep ticking over. I've got a rollicking adventure planned all over the world. I hope to set Fu Manchu up there with Moriarty, a position I've seen him in. If you don't know much about him, don't worry neither do our heroes. 

A book that you might try that has given me inspiration is ANNO DRACULA by Kim Newman, an absolutely superb Vampire novel and one of my all time favourite books. It has a wonderful line in cameos and we'll see what we can do here about them. 

See ya Mark 


	3. Default Chapter Title

The plane touched down and rolled to a controlled stop. The first class had seen three interesting passengers, it just hadn't known it. The three disembarked and stepped to one side. Wesley looked to Mandrake, "I take it that was you travelling incoqnito." Mandrake smiled. "Usually Lothar flies. Where is your friend meeting us?" Dian flashed a smile at the two of them. "Our friend, Mandrake, is over there." Just inside the doors of the terminal stood a dashingly dressed man. His dark hair was cut in the latest fashion. There was a seriousness to him. Dian walked ahead of the two men and the other man's face brightened. "Another jewel graces Opal", he said. "Hello, Dian." The two of them cuddled. "Hello, Ted," Dian replied. Wesley stood behind. "Mandrake, meet Theodore Knight. Opal City's premiere schmoozer." 

Sand and Stage Mist Issue 3 Jewelled Underworld Written by Mark Peyton Edited by Erik Burnham 

Shade's Journal July 16th 1939 I sit at my desk as another day of enforced rest passes. An outside force has looked onto Opal. A force I had heard tell of in the East. One Fu Manchu. No immortal as I can ascertain. Nevertheless I have heard tell that his men are sweeping through Opal's underworld. It's this sort of thing that attracts the gaudy clad heroes if one is not careful. I might be forced to intervene in this situation if it threatens the city. If not I will attempt to catch up on my reading while I enjoy some tranquility before the storm. 

Wesley sat in an armchair as Ted rested against the fireplace. "We'll wait until the evening before we go and look. Thank you for the help, Ted." Ted flashed a smile. "You I might turn down, Wes, but not Dian. Besides I might ask for your help sometime. Your friend seemed tired." "Yes I noticed that. As long as he is up to strength to accompany the Sandman tonight, that is all that matters." "How does it feel? All the theatrics of the costume?" Wesley considered his answer. "I'm not entirely sure. It's like a dream, quite fittingly. I'm sure there is some thrill to be derived from it, but to me it's a need to do it or I would lose myself. Dian does it partly to prove herself. Why do you ask?" "Just some idle thoughts. It is what us playboys are supposed to do." "Rather than... now what was it? Oh yes, harness energy. I'm sure that made an interesting line with your latest conquest." "I must be growing up. I seem to be settling down with one girl. A lot of changes are happening, Wes. Who knows where I'll end up?" Wesley looked seriously at him, "Be careful, Ted, this isn't as easy as it might appear. I don't want to have to bury you." "Mr Dodds, I could almost believe you cared. I'm not a headstrong boy. I'll let my head rule." Wesley smiled. "Well, settle for a nice easy city like Opal and leave the professionals to the real cities." 

OPAL ART MUSEUM 

Dian turned the page and pulled a picture from her folder. The two items were obviously connected. Upon the parchment stolen from New York was embossed the symbol of a rising sun. The picture in the Museum's records here in Opal of a ceremonial dagger showed it possessed the same symbol on one side of the pommel. That was one connection. The second was that they'd both been stolen. However, it seemed, not by the same group. The Opal job according to the local Police had been done by a lone individual. No sign of accomplices. If it was only one person, that person was now in serious trouble. 

OLD TOWN, OPAL CITY 

'Foxy' Hawkins ran like a man possessed, leaping over the homeless man who had camped down in the alley for the night. He glanced back nervously over his shoulder, saw nothing, but kept running. He turned onto Burnham Street and slowed to a walk. He'd head for a bar, give himself some time to think. And decide what to do about the dagger he'd stolen and all those crazy 'gooks' after him. 

A RENTED WAREHOUSE, OLD TOWN 

Kyle lit a cigarette and blew out the match. He'd asked for some additional men to aid in combing the city for the thief. The explanation he'd given was that he wanted Caucasian men to arouse less suspicion than his Master's loyal henchmen. He inhaled deeply. Truth was he felt isolated surrounded by all those Asians. Sure, he might be racist, but it was a minor crime. If he was to carry out his duties, he'd need backup. Backup he felt comfortable with. Being a minority wasn't something he felt comfortable with. 

LATER, OLD TOWN 

Dian pulled away in the car, leaving the Sandman and Mandrake standing under a streetlight. The Sandman had the smaller gasgun in his hands, his hat pulled down and his suit impeccable. Mandrake was bedecked in his normal tuxedo with a black bowtie. He looked a little bedraggled, not his usual suave self. The Sandman looked around and walked down the alleyway. Mandrake tapped his top hat down onto his head and followed, fastening his longcoat. They made their way down flights of steps, heading further into the alleyways and winding streets. The Sandman always stayed ahead, silently moving, searching thoroughly. He waved his hand to stop and Mandrake complied. Around the corner stood two men talking. One was obviously shorter than the other and of Asian origin. The Sandman turned to Mandrake and pointed to another alley across the way. He swept his finger in a small arc in the air and pointed to the magician. Mandrake nodded and started to run slowly back up the alley. The Sandman meanwhile listened. "We've been traipsing through this place for the best part of two hours. You had any luck?" The small Asian man replied, in heavily accented English, "The Master will grant us success." "Instead, we're following that Mist fool." "The Master's wisdom is not to be questioned." "I wish I had your ..." Across the alleyway, the sound of several approaching footfalls echoed out. "What was that?" The footfalls increased, now resonating from all but one of the alleys. The two men turned into the green gas of the Sandman. They stepped back, coughing and spluttering as he fired another blast. "None can escape the dark dream of the Sandman." The Sandman stepped forward as the gas swirled around him. He grabbed the taller man. "Where can I find this Mist?" The man was about 5'9", dressed as a dock worker, his cap pulled down over his deepset blue eyes. He coughed, fighting for air, "Go to... [cough] ...Hell, freak." The Sandman looked at him through the eyepieces of the gasmask, silently. He brought up the gasgun and struck the man across the head. The man crumpled to the floor as the Sandman let him sink. The man's partner had gathered enough wits about him and was attempting to escape. He sprinted up the other alleyway. His footsteps alerted the Sandman. "Stop him, magician," he called, bending to examine the unconscious man. Mandrake watched as the man ran towards him. The smaller man was looking over his shoulder, focused on the sleeping gas. Mandrake lifted his cane, catching the runner's legs. "I think my gasmasked friend wants you to stay," he said, as the small man tripped and skidded into the wall. The Sandman picked through the man's pockets as Mandrake walked down towards him. "The other one is up there. Found anything?" Wesley pulled up the mask. "I think so. Go and get a shoe from that other guy." Mandrake nodded, a little perplexed, and walked back to the unconscious body. He brought back the shoe to Wesley, who turned it to examine the sole. "What are you looking for?" Mandrake asked. Wesley looked up and said, "I wanted to check if they both had the same residue on their shoes. You notice that it had been raining. The fact they both had this on their shoes means they spent time in a specific place. That means we know where to look next." 

ELSEWHERE IN OLDTOWN 'Foxy' Hawkins closed the door and blew out the light. In his hand, he cradled a gun. It was going to be another long night. His friend had arranged this place to hole up in. All he had to do was see the morning in, then he could try and get out of Opal. 

Mandrake tapped out his cigarette and looked at the Sandman. He found it strange. When Wesley was around, he seemed a little nervous, almost apologetic. His movements were stronger as the Sandman. He was certainly more taciturn. Mandrake lit the cigarette and thought he was glad he knew Wesley. Being solely partnered by the Sandman would not work. The important thing was that this man could help him find that Mist fellow. The Sandman looked over the warehouse across the street. The streetlight was broken, so it was only the illumination from the surounding area and the moon that cast any light onto the building. The Sandman looked back to Mandrake, who inhaled sharply. The gasgun blew out a thin mist into the courtyard and the two made their way across to the warehouse. Mandrake whispered, "Shall I open it or you?" The Sandman looked blankly at him and Mandrake bent to unfasten the lock. He pushed the door open slowly, listening for any creaking. Mandrake stepped in looking about. The Sandman followed him in and said, "The rats have deserted this hole." Mandrake nodded. Wesley pulled the mask from his face. "They seem to have left in some sort of a hurry. Is there anything you can do to help? A trick perhaps?" "I don't do that sort of magic. Illusions are my forte. Where do we try next?" Wesley shrugged. Mandrake's eyes glanced up and he held up his hand, "Listen, do you hear that?" Wesley opened his mouth and Mandrake said, "I can hear somebody running. He sprinted out into the courtyard where the mist was dissipating. Wesley pulled the mask down over his face and the Sandman followed. Into the courtyard ran a man whose suit was muddied at the bottom. Mandrake stepped into his path from a patch of fog which had mysteriously thickened. The man jumped back in shock. "You have to help me. My friend is in trouble." The Sandman stepped forward and the man jumped back again. "I admit I screwed up. I told them where he is." Mandrake looked fiercely at the man, "You told who?" The man sputtered, looking between Mandrake and the Sandman. He had muddy red hair and wore a cheap suit. "They wanted Foxy. Some guy paid me, then went off with some Japs." Mandrake's face looked stern, while the Sandman simply stood watching. "What did this man look like?" The man floundered as he said, "He was about 5'7", greying hair. It was almost not quite there. It sounds strange...." Mandrake cut in. "It sounds like our man. Where is this Foxy?" 

Kyle handed over the bundle of notes to the clerk. "You saw nothing and you'll hear nothing. You understand?" "Yeah I just spent the evening listening to the wireless." Kyle smiled. "Good." He stepped out of the office, lighting a new cigarette and closed the door. To his side stood one of the Tong. Now Kyle might not like the Tong much, but in this man he saw danger. The scar across Li Tsung's face was worn with pride. It gave a slight mad stare to his left eye. Li Tsung was a man Kyle did not want to cross. In fact, he was highly tempted to become good friends with him. "The men are in position?" Kyle asked. Li Tsung nodded. "We just wait for you." Kyle blew out a ring of smoke and walked towards the stairs. 

The car screeched as it roared down the quiet streets of the Oldtown. Mandrake held onto his hat as the Sandman floored the pedal. "It's a good thing you looked over a map before we came out," Mandrake said. "When you are hunting those who disturb the sleep of the just, it is important to know the ground." The Sandman's voice echoed from the mask and Mandrake attempted to detect any sort of emotion. The car slowed as they neared their destination. The two got out. Mandrake walked briskly but stopped. "Stand close to me," he said. "We won't need gas to cover our approach." The Sandman looked up to see a watcher on the roof. The Watcher cast her gaze around and noticed nothing unusual. She had been stationed there from their arrival. Her noticing nothing unusual was Mandrake's goal as he covered the Sandman and himself in a shroud. They moved quickly across. Reaching the building, Mandrake dropped the illusion, breathing deeply. The Sandman looked over him, offering no comment. Mandrake unbuttoned his coat and breathed a little easier. A commotion had started inside. The two could hear yelling and banging. The Sandman moved to the door and shoved hard. The person on the other side fell back as the Sandman walked through. He lowered his gun and shot gas into the man's face. "We must be on our guard for we enter a nest of vipers." Mandrake nodded, his hankerchief covering his mouth. The stairwell was quiet. The commotion seemed to be contained in the upstairs. Mandrake put his hand on Sandman's arm. "I need you to distract them. I think I can get him out by myself." The Sandman nodded and unfastened his coat. Mandrake ran up the stairs as he left his partner behind. It was in the quieter moments he caught glimpses of Wesley behind the Mask. He jogged up the flights of stairs quickly, but cautiously. As he looked up, he saw a foot overhanging. Closing his eyes, Mandrake pushed forth his illusion. The dull ache was still there. Concentrate. Concentrate on the job at hand. He crept up the stairs and held his breath as he moved past the first guard. There were three men on the landing, all Asian. One proudly wore a black scorpion tattoo weaving up his arm. This was not the same tattoo he had seen in New York. Inside the room, whose door lay ajar, the form of a man flew across. A strong male voice said, "It will only get worse. Hand over the dagger and I won't turn you over to my friend. He is very anxious to get hold of you." There was silence. The silence was rudely broken by an explosion. Flame gushed into the sky outside. A mist in the form of a man appeared at the doorway. "Check that out and report back." Mandrake stood, hidden to the world, considering the man who had led him this far. The mist man turned back into the room and Mandrake followed him in. Kyle looked down on the battered and bruised man. The man looked up at him shifting between nothingness and a physical form, and glanced behind at Li. Kyle wondered who was causing the most discomfort. He was allowing himself to regain some corporeality. That was a mistake. Mandrake watched Kyle shift his body back and forth, bringing his cane down hard as Kyle's body hit normality. As the blow struck, Mandrake cast down some tricks of the trade - flash powder and smoke pellets. He ran forward and grabbed the man on the ground. The man allowed himself to be dragged. "Run!" Mandrake said. The man complied and they turned heading up the stairs. Reaching the top, Mandrake kicked the door and emerged on the rooftop, looking out over the Oldtown. He sprinted forward and pulled back the man as he wavered on the roof's edge. The glow of the fire could be seen and behind, the sound of pursuit. 

TO BE CONTINUED Next time - Wesley and Mandrake escape and find a clue to the next stage of their mysterious quest. A special guest star from another YY title and clues to what Fu Manchu is after. 

Thanks this issue go to Jericho Vilar who was this titles editor for a bit, not nearly as briefly as he was my other title's editor. I think Erik is the new editor but don't quote me on that. 

The email if you are interested is keravin44@hotmail.com 


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